“‘We will not grow old in her Bastille!’

“Which was true, for eight days later we were awakened in the middle of the night by a terrible hubbub on the ground floor.  From our landing we heard several voices, swearing and raging under the trap-door which they were trying to raise, to which the padlock offered but feeble resistance, for a strong push broke it off and the door opened with a great noise.  My mother and the servant rushed to the bureau, pushed and dragged it to the door, whilst some men came out of the cellar, walked to the door, grumbling, opened it, saw the drawbridge up, unfastened the rope and let it fall down with a loud bang, and then the voices grew fainter till they disappeared in the wood.  But go to sleep after all that!  We stayed there waiting for the dawn, and though all danger was over, not daring to speak aloud!

“At last the day broke.  We moved the bureau, and my mother, brave as ever, went down first, carrying a candle.  The yawning trap-door exposed the black hole of a cellar, the entrance door was wide open and the bridge down.  We called the gardener, who did not answer, and whose hut was empty.  My mother did not wait till afternoon this time, but jumped on her donkey and went down to the chateau.

“Mme. de Combray was dressing.  She expected my mother and knew her object in coming so well that without waiting for her to tell her story, she flew out like most people, who, having no good reason to give, resort to angry words, and cried as soon as she entered the room: 

“’You are mad; mad enough to be shut up!  You take my house for a resort of bandits and counterfeiters!  I am sorry enough that I ever brought you here!’

“‘And I that I ever came!’

“‘Very well, then—­go!’

“‘I am going to-morrow.  I came to tell you so.’

“‘A safe return to you!’ On which Mme. de Combray turned her back, and my mother retraced her steps to the tower in a state of exasperation, fully determined to take the boat for Paris without further delay.

“Early next morning we made ready.  The gardener was at the door with his cart, coming and going for our luggage, while the servant put the soup on the table.  My mother took only two or three spoonfuls and I did the same, as I hate soup.  The servant alone emptied her plate!  We went down to Roule where the gardener had scarcely left us when the servant was seized with frightful vomiting.  My mother and I were also slightly nauseated, but the poor girl retained nothing, happily for her, for we returned to Paris convinced that the gardener, being left alone for a moment, had thrown some poison into the soup.”

“And did nothing happen afterwards?”

“Nothing.”

“And you heard nothing more from Tournebut?”

“Nothing, until 1808, when we learned that the mail had been attacked and robbed near Falaise by a band of armed men commanded by Mme. de Combray’s daughter, Mme. Acquet de Ferolles, disguised as a hussar!  Then, that Mme. Acquet had been arrested as well as her lover (Le Chevalier), her husband, her mother, her lawyer and servants and those of Mme. de Combray at Tournebut; and finally that Mme. de Combray had been condemned to imprisonment and the pillory, Mme. Acquet, her lover, the lawyer (Lefebre) and several others, to death.”